


touch my wounds with your fingertips and we can live forever

by glassbones



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Badly written angst, Badly written everything, Cannibalism, Cuddling, Cunning Hannibal, Half-assed canon references, I'm not a native speaker please don't eat me, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Mizumono, Will is a daisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbones/pseuds/glassbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at me, Will." Will's eyes shifts to the bridge of his nose, his lips, barely looking Hannibal in the eyes and then retreat back to his cheekbone, blinking rapidly. "What do you see?"<br/>"A predator," Will whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I imagined you and Alana when I was having sex with Margot," Will blurts out.

  He looks more rumpled and confused than usual, the musky smell of him peculiarly mixed with fear and lust. Hannibal smiles -- not with his amused half-smile or with a lifeless, cold grin he reserves for his pigs, but genuinely, letting tenderness melt on his face.

  "I _know_ , William."

  Will's utter confusion is hilarious; he opens and closes his mouth a few time before asking: "How?" His emotions are apparent on his face, in his posture and the way he avoids eye contact with more determination than usual.

  "The way you look at her. At us. You couldn't not notice it; Alana reeks of happiness and I still smell like her perfume."

  Will shifts, blush creeping into his cheeks. He still avoids Hannibal's gaze, awkwardly perched on his table, but somehow regains his confidence.

  Hannibal thinks about taking Will on the table, fucking him until he's barely conscious, legs swinged around Hannibal's hips and lips panting his name. There is a packet of lube in his wallet, kept especially for such occasions. He lets a hint of his thoughts show on his face, licks his lips. Makes a show of stepping a few steps closer to Will, putting all of his natural dominance in his posture.

  "You stopped wearing your old perfume," Hannibal's voice sounds husky, his accent becoming more apparent.

  "You told me not to," Will says, looking in the area of Hannibal's left cheekbone.

  The blush crept onto his neck, blooming, heating the air near him. The smell of lust becomes all the more apparent.

  "Look at me, Will." Will's eyes shifts to the bridge of his nose, his lips, barely looking Hannibal in the eyes and then retreat back to his cheekbone, blinking rapidly. "What do you see?"

  " _A predator_ ," Will whispers.

   Hannibal smirks and moves even closer. It's easy to imagine what he sees: eyes misted with desire, lips full and moist, a perfectly ironed suit outlining Hannibal's broad shoulders, his pose confident and dominating. He makes a point in licking his lips, and then takes another step towards Will. "Do you like what you see?"

  Of course, he does; it's apparent, everything in Will screams about it.

  "God, _yes_ ," Will breathes, brain slowly catching up with what he just said. "Oh. I mean, yes. I do."

  He's cornered between the desk and Hannibal, a few steps between them. Hannibal could easily pin the younger man to the desk, holding his wrists with one hand and choking him with another, his lips on Will's, his groin pressing against Will's hip. He will not do that, not yet.

  "Good. I believe," another step closer.

  The earthy scent of Will is almost overwhelming, all sweat and sex and anxiousness.

  "I believe that the feeling is mutual." He kisses Will before the man manages to come up with a reply, lips gently brushing against his, a hand resting on William's shoulder. He freezes, all submission and tenderness and fear, not resisting against the kiss nor deepening it. Hannibal kisses him again, this time more intently, licking at Will's mouth until it opens. He tilts Will's head back, slightly tugging at his hair.

  Hannibal would eat him out and then eat him, choking Will as he comes; slitting his throat open; biting him and tearing his flesh apart until he bleeds to death.

  He will not do that either.

  A sigh escapes Will's lungs as they pull apart, lips red and eyes glistening with desire. "God," Will manages. "Jesus fucking _Christ_."

  Hannibal still has his hand massaging the other man's scalp, pressing in the back of his neck, not letting him look away. "Didn't you like it," it's a statement, not a question.

  Will sighs again, hitching his breath. "Yes," he grins. " _Yes_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tucks his head between Will's neck and shoulder, closing his eyes. It feels like home.

The bedroom is dimly lit by a single panorama window, casting the cold light of morning on Hannibal's bed. He's awake; has been for the better part of the night, watching the rise and fall of Will's chest and listening to the soft sound of his breath. Will is not a snorer, but he grinds his teeth in the deeper phases of sleep, making a loud and strange sound. It will ruin his teeth, thinks Hannibal, changing his bite and his jawline. It's a pity.

They sweat through the blankets and a woolen coverlet, but it's rather pleasant. The warm, moist smell of sleeping Will envelops Hannibal like his murder suit. Transparent and yet almost palpable, it fits him like a glove.

Morning light washes over them, somehow causing Will's hair to be an even richer shade of auburn, making his stubble look darker against his skin. Hannibal wants to shave those cheeks and then slice through the skin with a razor, cutting through the windpipe and exposing the vocal chords.

Nevertheless, he won't do that. Will shifts, tangling their legs together; he's draped around Hannibal, a mess of soft limbs pressing against his entire body. Hannibal lazily puts his arm around the younger man, pulling him close. He can sense his pulse, slow and steady; can almost taste his sweat and hair -- an earthy, warm human smell. He tucks his head between Will's neck and shoulder, closing his eyes. It feels like home. It feels like warm autumn afternoons with Mischa, skinning fresh potatoes while she babbles about a cow she saw in the field; her unbraided hair framing her face like a halo and the smell of butter in the pan filling his nostrils.

No, he thinks, sleepily pressing his face into Will. For now , he will not kill William Graham.

The dawn meets them cocooned in the blankets, every part of each other's bodies gained together. Hannibal hums quietly, buried in Will's neck. Home, he thinks, before falling into a dreamless and peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUUUUUUUGE thanks to skit for pointing out all the errors in this chapter. i'm a pissbaby so it took me half a year to get my shit together and edit them in, but it's just because i'm pathetic


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will’s dying himself, he realizes. He clutches his abdomen, guts exposed by Hannibal’s linoleum knife. He’s dying and so is everybody he loves.
> 
> It hits him like a train, the sudden understanding. It floods him, pooling around him like Abigail’s blood pools around her head, like red-coloured rainwater pools around Alana’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to everyone who spotted the quote from Red Dragon!
> 
>  
> 
> ((I'm terribly sorry for not managing to post the update earlier (ugh, state exams). I'll try updating more often.))

  It hits him like a car or an upcoming train.

  He can't say he hadn't seen it coming. He had. It’s just he hadn't expected it to be so painful, so overwhelming, never thought it will be so hard.

  He hadn't seen it coming and it hits him like a train.

  One second he's looking at Alana’s body. She’s broken and shattered, limbs sticking out at unnatural angles; there are shards of glass everywhere around her and falling rain mixes with Alana’s blood.

  Will’s never seen her look so beautiful before.

  Next second he's on the floor next to Hannibal’s pantry. Jack is dying inside of it, all ragged breaths and blood steadily trickling from his throat.

  He’s on the floor next to Hannibal’s pantry and he watches Abigail die, her eyes wide in surprise, her throat slit open.

  He saw her die twice; throat cut wide open, blood unnaturally dark against her pale skin.

  Will’s dying himself, he realizes. He clutches his abdomen, guts exposed by Hannibal’s linoleum knife. He’s dying and so is everybody he loves.

  It hits him like a train, the sudden understanding. It floods him, pooling around him like Abigail’s blood pools around her head, like red-coloured rainwater pools around Alana’s body.

  It’s the last thought that crosses his mind; a knife-sharp knowledge of what Hannibal did to him. He closes his eyes the moment Abigail stops breathing, welcoming the darkness. His inner vision is flooded with blood, and the very air has screams smeared on it.

  It feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd be very grateful if you told me about any spelling/grammar mistakes.
> 
> Huge thanks goes to everybody who commented/cudoed the fanfic, you guys are the only reason why I'm still writing the damn thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It fades, inevitably but ever so slowly, until one day Will Graham wakes up with a cold knowledge that he has been set free. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the gaping hole inside his stomach had closed in on itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i haven't actually planned to continue this fic, but then i checked the subscription stats and.. just so you know guys, i'm terribly thankful. a kidney goes to everybody who kudoed/bookmarked/viewed the thing
> 
> once again, tell me if you spotted any mistakes
> 
> PS: i don't really thing there will be another chapter, but who knows? anyway, if you want me to continue or something, feedback is appreciated

It fades, inevitably but ever so slowly, until one day Will Graham wakes up with a cold knowledge that he had been set free. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the gaping hole inside his stomach had closed in on itself. It's unsettling in a way, as if something was torn from Will instead of being returned to him.

He doesn't think he noticed that weight before it have disappeared

It feels strange to be feeling normal (of all things), almost stable. _Happy_ , even, comparing to his usual state.

He moved out of Wolf Trap and onto the shore a few years ago. He took the dogs with him too, Applesauce joining the rest of the pack.

  
He went through a very uncomfortable discussion with Jack, went to Abigail's and Alana's funerals. Most of his former colleagues were there; Freddie as well. She cried when Abigail's coffin was lowered into the ground, cried with an ugly, ashamed look of someone who isn't used to crying. Will haven't said anything to her because it wouldn't help. He knew it wouldn't, just as he knew that Abigail and Alana have died.

 _Once upon a time_ , he thinks grimly, _it hadn't seemed like a probability_. Once upon a time he thought there was a future for her, for all of them. A happily ever after. Him, Hannibal, Abigail.  
 _We are her fathers now_ , a familiar, thick voice says inside of him. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't hurt. Will closes his eyes.

Five years ago Hannibal was all he had. Four years ago, there was nothing to him but grief, and hurt, and closed coffins.  
 _Alana was so beautiful when she died_ , he thinks, strands of wet dark hair against her unnaturally pale face, blood and rainwater everywhere. Will catched a glimpse of her when he was being taken to hospital, the fragile frame of her body lying broken and shattered on the ground.

He remembers many things. Memory is all he has left.

Will remembers Hannibal, the thickness of his voice, his cold eyes, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his mouth on Will's. Will remembers kisses and touches and licks and bites, the weight of another man on his body, the burning stretch, the fullness, the whispered promises and sweet nothings, and the desperation with which Hannibal used to repeat his name, over and over and over, like a prayer.

He also remembers tears in the older man's eyes, hands on his face; he remembers blood dripping from the linoleum knife and onto the floor, the agonizing pain when it entered his body, the strangely peaceful feeling when all his blood had rushed out of the wound, the coppery smell of it.

Smells and sounds and touches that no longer haunt him. All of it had been washed away like letters in the sand would be by the tide. Inevitable, gradual, mesmerizing in its nature.

Will's train of thought is interrupted by a dog nuzzling at his right hand. It's Applesauce.

Applesauce's terribly fat now, white-and-beige fur glistening on her back. She looks like a happy dog.

Will pets her a few times before shooing the away. _Ice tea_ , he thinks. Ice tea, greasy food and shit reality TV, because Will deserves to be happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have this weird headcanon where Will /loves/ Project Runway. whose coping mechanisms are weird? YOUR coping mechanisms are weird. don't look at me

**Author's Note:**

> If you spotted any mistakes/typos, PLEASE let me know. I suck at English writing.


End file.
